Project X

Chapter 2 | The Gathering

"So," John's aggravating voice interrupts Mason and my grieving. It is a strange feeling to mourn someone who has not yet died. Mason's eyes snap to John with red hot fury.

"Do you mind?" he growls. "You just fricking ripped us from our dad and everything we've ever known and you don't even give us a chance to recover or even process what just happened?" Mason's hands hold the seatbelt in a death grip, turning his knuckles white. I catch his gaze and shake my head even though I wanted to reach over John's headrest and give him multiple hard slaps. Getting the message, he takes a deep breath and plasters a fake smile onto his face. "Never mind. That was rude. I'm very sorry," he apologizes sarcastically. I glare at him and he corrects himself again. "No sarcasm intended."

"It's okay. It's an expected reaction from what just happened, but if I were you, young man, I would watch my mouth. There are many worse things than leaving your father for a few years." John's beady eyes find mine as if he were warning us that he can take us away from each other in a blink of an eye if he wanted. This only made my hatred toward him grow. John smirks and looks at the road in front of us.

There were only four people in the car: Mason, John, the chauffeur, and I. Mason and I were forced to sit in the middle row - closer to the two kidnappers, making us feel like we had no say in anything but I realized that I better get used to it if we were going to live like this for awhile.

Seeing that Mason about to explode by his red cheeks and flared nostrils, I grab his hand and soothingly rub my thumb across the back of his hand. This helps a bit as his eyes meet mine and I again, shake my head. "He's mentally deranged. No use fighting a psychotic butt hole," I whisper into his ear. This made Mason crack a slight smile and he gripped my hand tighter.

We look out the window and watch the passing houses and the occasional squirrel jumping from tree to tree. I take a peek at the time on the digital clock in the front of the car which says it was eight sixteen. "Excuse me," I speak up.

"See, you should learn to be a bit more like your sister here. She's polite," John sneers at Mason, but Mason thankfully ignores him. "Yes, Cassara?"

"Where are we going and how much longer?" I inquire.

"We're going to a neighborhood in Oregon because we're close and pick up one other, and then another neighborhood about fifteen minutes away from that neighborhood to pick up another one. I think it'll take..." he checks his expensive looking watch "thirty minutes to the next neighborhood."

"Thank you," I reply, turning my head to the window again, gritting my teeth.

The rest of the car ride was silent which I was grateful for because it wouldn't be too long before I finally burst too and resort to repeatedly punching the bastard in the head and believe me when I say no one would be able to stop me.

Since the windows are still open, I hang my hand out of the car and imagine my dad sitting on our old porch with his head in his hands, crying. When he looks up, his eyes are filled with the same heartbreak he experienced when Mom died, but in his hand is a knife. He raises it to his chest and right before he plunges it into it, the car comes to a jolting halt at a stoplight, making the images of Dad fade away.

I shake my head and desperately look for Mason's gaze. I squeeze his hand and he looks my way and when he meets my eyes, his eyes cloud with worry. "You okay?" he mouths. I shake my head. He grimaces before mouthing, "Me neither." We look at each other for a few more seconds and then we look away. The gap between our seats prevents us from sitting closer.

Before we know it, we reach the neighborhood in Oregon and John leaves the car to retrieve one other. John brushes imaginary dust off his tailored suit before pressing the doorbell. One minute passes and John presses the doorbell again. "It's the representative from the government!" he calls. Suddenly, John freezes as if he heard something. He presses his ear onto the door and a malicious look makes its way onto his face. "Please open the door," he orders. He then presses his ear against the door again and seeming satisfied, he takes a key from his pocket and shoves it into the keyhole. He twists it and the door clicks open. He turns to look at us and motions that it would take one second.